


Everything Was Fine

by LMT



Category: Cobra Kai (Web Series), Karate Kid (Movies)
Genre: General sexual abuse, It is icky, M/M, Masturbation on command, ballbusting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:54:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28419447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LMT/pseuds/LMT
Summary: Everything was fine at practice.  Everything was fine with Sensei.   If that half-smile meant something different now to Johnny than it used to, nobody else seemed to notice.Fuller warning inside, but: this involves abusive & predatory coach/student sexual content.
Relationships: John Kreese/Johnny Lawrence
Comments: 84
Kudos: 45





	1. Chapter 1

**WARNING IN BIG BOLD LETTERS! This fic is the opposite of a fix-it. (It’s a… break-that?). It takes the 1984 Kreese/Johnny relationship, and imagines it gross. This fic is abusive & predatory coach/student sexual encounters. If you find depictions of sexual abuse to be triggering you would be better off passing on this fic.**

**There are three parts. So that everybody is adequately forewarned, they involve, in order: masturbation on command, light/moderate ballbusting, and general sexual terrorization plus hand job. While the activities themselves aren’t super extreme, the abusiveness and low-level trauma squicks me out so much that once I’ve posted all three parts I’m planning to orphan it to get it off my page.**

**Note that while I take full blame for actually _writing_ this ickiness, I didn’t just pull it out of the ether. It was inspired by the possessive & yucky shoulder-molestation move Kreese pulls when Daniel runs into him and Johnny outside the mini mart. Even though they’re all adults now, that gesture still had _get your hands off that boy!_ written all over it. Euw.**

* * *

“Hey. Johnny.” Sensei was leaning against the locker room doorway. Behind him the dojo was empty – he’d stayed behind to drill a few things, and the other guys had all trickled out, and now he and Sensei were all alone. 

Was he supposed to stand to attention and answer properly? Or was that too weirdly formal in a locker room?

He compromised: “Yes, Sensei?” without getting up from the bench.

“What the hell was going on out there today?” Usually that would be a very dangerous question, but today Sensei didn’t sound angry. He sounded almost… caring? Concerned? “Is everything all right? You were looking awfully distracted.”

He shook his head. “Nothing, Sensei. I’m sorry. Everything’s fine. I just-”

“When’s the last time you got your rocks off?”

He blinked. Must have misheard that. “What?”

“You were looking a little antsy,” he explained, “In that _way_ that boys your age do. You know.”

Well… no, he didn’t know. He wasn’t aware that people could tell just by looking whether he had recently gotten his rocks off or not.

“So answer me: when is the last time you beat your meat, son? If your girl isn’t putting out for you, at your age you need to be doing it pretty much every day.”

“Uh-, I-… But, but I thought people said that getting off is bad for athletic performance,” he stammered out finally. _Thank god_ that fact had bubbled up from somewhere in his mind to help him. Because what the hell else was he supposed to say.

“That’s baloney.” Sensei took a step in, and the door closed behind him. Now they were _really_ all alone, and it was awfully warm and claustrophobic in here. “It’s _maybe_ true that you’d want to hold off on the day before a big fight,” he conceded, “But on a regular basis, you gotta keep your pipes cleaned out. So when’s the last time?”

Wow, this was beyond awkward. “Uh... uh, not, probably, not since about a week ago?” he guessed. It felt like that required some sort of apology, or at least an explanation. “There isn’t a lot of privacy in my house sometimes.”

“I understand. There’s privacy here,” Sensei said reasonably. “So why don’t you go ahead and take care of it now.”

“ _What_?”

“You heard me. Take it out and take care of yourself. If it’s really been a week,” he laughed, “It should only take a minute.”

“Um-, I, you want me to…?”

“Is little Jenny Lawrence _shy_?”

He bit down so hard he could hear it. He _hated_ that nickname, which was only ever mean and mocking, and right now of all times it seemed… somehow disgusting. It made him want a shower. But he pushed that feeling away.

“I’m not _shy_ , Sensei,” he snapped, “I just didn’t think you’d want me to-.” He bit down on the vulgar rest of the sentence. Language like that would get you in trouble. “-Here. _Is_ that what you want? Me to do it right here?”

“Right here.”

“Right now?”

“Right now.”

“Fine.” He untied his gi pants and reached in. Sensei just stood watching, smiling a little, like it was funny. 

It wasn’t working. Sitting on the bench like this, his wrist bent awkwardly and no elastic in his waistband, he was never going to get anywhere. But over his _dead body_ would he let Sensei think he couldn’t make his dick work, so he stood up suddenly, shoved his pants and underwear halfway down his thighs, and sat down again. It wasn’t great, his legs were still sort of bound together this way, but at least he could get a grip and start jacking. He started right away.

Or, tried to. But he was having a hard time getting going; he had never done it with someone watching. He closed his eyes.

… which meant, he had no warning before someone’s hand was suddenly on his knee. “Here,” Sensei said, crouching right in front of him. “Why don’t you make yourself comfortable.” He grasped each of Johnny’s pant legs by the calf, and with one yank had them puddled on the floor.

Johnny gasped. Suddenly he was half-naked, and freezing. And still holding his dick, which somehow had become hard, _thank god_. He started stroking, and didn’t stop when Sensei reached up to his lap to take hold of his underpants too. Those didn’t get a yank – they were pulled smoothly all the way down to his ankles, and left there. (That pull skimmed Sensei’s hands down the sides of his legs, ruffling through his hair, leaving goosebumps. The feeling lingered even after the hands were gone.).

Without his clothes in the way his knees sort of fell open. Sensei palmed them lightly and spread them all the way. “There. Much better.” Then he stood and moved a (safe) distance away, to lean against lockers, with his arms crossed. And just watched.

It might have been very quick. It might have taken forever. Johnny wasn’t sure – he had his eyes squeezed shut and was one thousand percent focused on what he was doing. The next actual thought he had was that he didn’t have a sock or anything handy, and he was about to need one.

He opened his eyes to find Sensei still watching him, wearing that half-smile that said you were doing something right and were therefore soon ready to be pushed harder. It made his stomach drop. He tried to ignore that. “I- need to get a tissue,” he breathed.

“Nah.” Sensei waved it off. “No need for that. Just come all over yourself, there’s a shower right here.”

_Come all over yourself._

No one had ever given him an order like that before, and for a second he froze right on the brink, like he forgot how to come at all.

“ _Now,_ Mr. Lawrence.”

He was as obedient in that as in everything.

* * *

**TBC.**

**Sorry for this whole thing. It got stuck in my head and I had to write it to get it out.**

**I assume everybody’s primary reaction is “euw,” but if you have any additional comments please leave ‘em and I’ll read.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you guys so much for the comments. I am incredibly relieved to hear that I’m not the only one who got a creepy-molester vibe from the minimart scene. At least I know it’s not me, it’s him.**

* * *

Everything was fine when he went home to dinner. Everything was fine when he did his homework and watched some TV. Everything was fine when he went to bed – he crashed out right away, got right to sleep, no dreams.

For some reason though, things were _not_ fine the next morning in the shower.

Out of nowhere he could smell the locker room. And he could hear. _Clean yourself, Mr. Lawrence._ He washed fast, under his arms and between his legs, fast like was trying to outrun the commentary, but it still bubbled up to chase him. _Scrub harder, Mr. Lawrence, you had a good workout today._ _Ahem – clean **everywhere** – you missed a spot. That’s right. _And he definitely tried not to re-hear _Did you wash all the jism off your stomach? You can’t go home with **that** still there._

He’d never heard _jizz_ pronounced _jism_ before. Maybe it was a generational thing. There, fine, he was clean.

 _All clean! Here’s your towel_.

He shuddered and dried fast and rushed to put his clothes on. Hopefully, once he was dressed he could forget about it. If he didn’t remember it except when he was in the shower, well, he could live with a shitty two minutes every morning.

At breakfast his mother was all excited about some restaurant they were going to try this weekend, and he talked to her about that and didn’t think about yesterday at all.

Everything was fine.

* * *

Everything was fine at practice. Everything was fine with Sensei. If that half-smile meant something different now to Johnny than it used to, nobody else seemed to notice. He had a good practice.

Afterwards he made himself dash under the shower for a second – it would have looked strange if he didn’t. He kept up a running conversation with Bobby the entire time, and he didn’t let himself think, and he didn’t wash, and he was out of there before his hair was even all the way wet. But it was fine, mostly. He got dressed fast and headed out with his friends flanking him like bodyguards, and he nodded politely at Sensei and pretended he didn’t know exactly what that smile was about this time.

_Is little Jenny Lawrence **shy**?_

It sent a weird chill up his spine, but once he was outside in the sun again, everything was fine.

* * *

Everything was fine for a couple of weeks actually – until he had a bad practice. He realized halfway through that he was having a bad practice, and Sensei was shaking his head at him, and that panicked him so that the entire rest of the practice was worse still.

He wasn’t even off the mat yet when “ _Mr. Lawrence,”_ rang out sharp across the dojo. “Stick around. You need some extra training today.”

People gave him sympathetic looks, clapped him on the back as they left. _Sorry, man_ from a couple people, who figured he was in for pushups, or burpees, or breaking hard boards. He returned their condolences with bitter smiles. If only.

Once the dojo was empty Sensei dropped the blinds and locked the door. He came up and stood close.

Johnny stayed at attention and looked past him. It was worse out here on the mat, he realized. He’d thought he felt exposed and uncomfortable in the _locker room_? If he was made to do it out here on the practice floor he’d never get over it.

Sensei sighed. “What am I going to ask you, Mr. Lawrence?”

He spoke up right away, as firmly as he could. No _shyness_ this time. “When’s the last time.”

“That’s right. So: when’s the last time?”

He swallowed. There was no time to think up a lie and make himself believe it, so he stuck with the truth. “A-about a week.”

“About a week?” Sensei repeated mildly.

Then snaked out to _grab_ him, hard, between the legs. Yanked and twisted.

“ _Aah_!” He yelled with shock and pain, tore free, and the shock wore off fast but the pain didn’t. It had been that hard, that _brutal_ ; he was cupping himself and panting for breath long after Sensei had backed away.

“You haven’t taken care of yourself in about a week?” Still mild. As if… it hadn’t even happened.

But it _had._

But it was over. “No, Sensei,” he said, as steadily as he could, and made himself stand normally again.

“I see.” He came close. Johnny realized it was _not_ over and grabbed at his own sleeves because if he fought back that would be the end of him. And then it was happening – Sensei slowly, calmly, reached down and took hold and commenced kneading, twisting, squeezing handful after agonizing handful as he lectured: “Did I not tell you… that you need… to do better… than that?” Then he stopped. “Did I, or did I not?” Finally let go.

“Yes, Sensei. You did.” He sounded like he was going to cry.

He was _not_ going to cry. He _was_ shaking though, still, even though the torture was over.

“So let’s go over what I explained to you.”

He felt hands at his belt. Untying it, dropping it to the floor. _No._ Pushing inside his top to untie his bottoms as well. _No no no no._ But he couldn’t say anything – couldn’t even look away.

Sensei smiled pleasantly as he reached inside. “Pardon me, Johnny – I have no precision whatsoever over your gi.”

The hand that went into his underwear was weirdly cool. Or maybe he was just overheated. It nudged his cock aside and pushed past it. Closed firmly around his testicles.

He whimpered. “Please don’t.”

Sensei gave him a look with very raised eyebrows. “Are you asking for mercy, Mr. Lawrence?”

He stared at the wall. There was only one right answer. “No, Sensei.” His breaths were coming in gasps.

“Good.” He regripped slightly. “Then may I proceed with my lesson?”

There was only one right answer, but he could barely get it out. “Yes, Sensei.”

“Excellent. Thank you,” he purred, mocking. Regripped again, a little tighter. “Now. These are your balls, Johnny. You need to keep them drained. Do you understand that?”

Stiff as a board, focusing everything he had on _not moving,_ he managed to nod.

“Say it.” A _vicious_ twist.

“ _Ah-!_ I- need to- keep- my balls drained!” Even once the twisting stopped he could barely manage words through his terror. The too-hard grip was a low smoldering pain, and at any minute it might erupt.

“Good. And how do you do that?”

“M-masturbate!” High and squeaky, but he answered right away. “ _Oh ow-._ Don’t-...”

“Good. Jerking yourself off, that’s right.” Question and answer like any other lesson. “And how often did I say you need to do that?”

He froze.

“Mr. Lawrence? I’m waiting.”

He didn’t have the answer that would save him, and putting it off wasn’t going to help. Finally he just squeaked out the truth. “I- don’t remember.”

The grip relaxed. Sensei echoed softly: “You don’t remember. I see.” He took his hand out of Johnny’s pants entirely, and stood in front of him with arms crossed.

And that was even more terrifying, because as bad as he hurt already he could tell things were about to get, somehow, worse.

“I said _pretty much every day,_ but let’s give you a nice low bar to clear and make sure you remember it. You need to be doing it three times a week. Understood?”

“Yes, Sensei.”

“How many times a week?”

“Three, Sensei.”

“That’s right. Three.” He took Johnny by the shoulders and smiled. “ _One._ ” 

He saw the shift in bodyweight just in time to know it was a knee. “ _No-!_ ” The world exploded.

“ _Two. Three._ ” 

He smelled mat. He was writhing against the ground. He was whimpering – loud – and holding himself between the legs because he’d been bashed not once but _three times_ in the jewels, and he was only now just starting to be able to see and hear and breathe again.

“Take your time, Mr. Lawrence.” He heard it from across the room – Sensei was having a sip of water. How long had he been rolling around here in agony? He had no idea.

It still hurt too much to lie still – or to get up. He tried holding himself with one hand only, so that he could use the other to push himself up to his knees, but that was the best he could do.

Sensei came and crouched down beside him, which made him flinch away.

When he did, the cool air told him that his face was all wet. _Shit._ He moved frantically to wipe with his sleeve; tears were not allowed in this dojo.

Sensei caught his wrist and stopped him. “Relax. You’re not crying,” he assured. Wiped Johnny’s cheeks himself, with both hands. “Pain will make the eyes water sometimes, that’s all. Happens to the best of us.”

All his misery was eclipsed for a moment by an overpowering feeling of relief. Sensei wasn’t mad at him. He was okay. Nothing bad was going to happen.

“You’re okay, kid.” As if reading his mind. Mellow and upbeat. “Right?”

He sucked in a deep shuddering breath. Made himself nod.

“And we’re not going to have to do that again – are we.”

He shook his head.

“Because I will if I have to. But I’m sure it won’t be necessary. You’re going to take care of yourself – how many times a week?”

He swallowed. “Three.” A whisper was the best he could do.

“That’s right.” A friendly pat on the shoulder. “Now go hit the showers and clean yourself up.”

He dragged himself to his feet and limped to the locker room. He had privacy for his shower this time, but it didn’t help.

* * *

**TBC.**

**One more part, and then we’re done.**


	3. Chapter 3

After that, things were fine for a while again – except for the brief moments where they weren’t. Like: two days later he returned to practice, and Sensei brought him into the office and made him drop his drawers to _make sure everything’s okay down there_ after his _lesson._ The examination was gentle enough not to hurt much even with how sore he still was, and he was pronounced _fine_ at the end, but he hadn’t breathed once the entire time his balls were being handled and afterwards he did not feel fine at all.

Like: Someone flicked a towel at him in the gym locker room that was probably meant for his ass, only he turned at an unlucky moment so that it whispered over his crotch instead. He beat the hell out of the kid for being a pervert, and even as he was doing it he knew it wasn’t fair, the kid’s howling of _it was an accident_ was the truth, but he couldn’t stop until the guys dragged him off. And when they asked what the hell, as they were holding his hands in the sink to get the blood off, he snarled at them that everything was fine and that they would be next if they didn’t shut up about it.

Like: He realized that he couldn’t look Sensei in the face anymore. When politeness called for eye contact he would stare in the right direction, but let his gaze fall out of focus so that everything was just a soft faraway blur. It wasn’t at all fine that Sensei noticed this, and gave him disappointed sighs and head-shakes – even when he was having a good practice. Which he did every single day. He trained like his life depended on it now. That wasn’t really fine either.

Like: Showers.

But most of all, like masturbating. He kept to a schedule now: Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. (That way he could have the weekends off.). He did it whether or not he felt like it or wanted to, he did it whether or not he had the half hour to burn (gone were the days of shooting in five minutes; it took real effort now, but three times a week, he put the effort in.). Every now and again Sensei would ask him casually whether he was keeping to his workout schedule, sometimes in front of the class, and he was always able to say yes without blinking. He never missed a day.

Until one day he did. It wasn’t his fault, he had _tried_ , but he’d started chafing, and the harder he tried the worse it got, until it was hurting so much that he found himself desperately relieved when Mom called him to dinner and he had to take a break. _Forget it,_ he told himself, _it’s not happening_ , and he put on some Vaseline and didn’t finish and told himself that somehow things would be fine anyway.

But then at practice Sensei greeted him, like he sometimes did, by asking how was yesterday’s workout.

And Johnny froze.

“I see,” Sensei said at last. Nothing outwardly dire in his tone, nobody else paid any attention to their conversation at all, but. He knew what he was in for. “Why don’t you stick around after class and we’ll talk about it.”

The next thing he knew class was over and the dojo was emptying out. Had he had a good practice? He had no idea. Sensei was leading him into the office with an arm around his shoulders and he was going, hopeless and docile as a pet you were about to put down.

The office door closed behind them. Sensei stood him by the desk and then sat down on the corner of it – giving up his height advantage, slouching down casual and approachable.

Yeah, right.

“So tell me what happened, kid,” he said. All fatherly concern. “We really went in for some tough love last time. Remember?” His eyes dropped down, _there,_ and Johnny clasped his hands behind his back to stop himself from covering up. “I really thought we had you all squared away.”

“We- we did.” He didn’t have a death wish; he wasn’t about to argue. “And I’ve been- I’ve been keeping to my schedule. I have.”

“… But…?”

“But yesterday I-.” _Couldn’t_? Yeah, right. _Tried my best_? Like _that_ was ever good enough! “I-… it…”

Sensei finally sighed. “All right,” he said. “Let’s go - take it out.”

 _Why? What are you going to do?_ Johnny moved in slow motion through ice cold sludge to bring his hands to his belt. To untie it. And his pants. He started to tug them down his hips, then changed his mind. Instead he just pulled his cock out with one hand, and held his top out of the way with his other. “I tried,” he said. “Hard. But eventually…”

“Uh-huh. Come here.” He got off the desk, and pointed to the spot where he had just been sitting. “Right here.”

He did what he was told, and looked down at the surreal picture of a desk full of papers and lamp and office things… and his dick. Just resting there on the papers, raw and red and painful.

And getting hard, now. How the hell was _that_ happening?

He glared at himself. _Thanks a lot; you couldn’t have done that yesterday?_ But it was too late.

“So. You ran into some trouble yesterday.” Casually pulled a pencil from his pen-cup, and prodded with the eraser. 

He sucked his breath in. Stiff with dread that _something bad_ was about to happen.

But… it was just the butt end of a pencil, poking here and there, kind of curiously. Making him twitch. “Seems to be working just fine today.”

He just stood there. What the hell was he supposed to do?

“Now… we could always try punishment.” Sensei put a hand on him calmly, holding his dick to the desk. “I’m sure we could think of some things to do.” He flipped around his pencil and touched, still light and curious, with a _very sharp_ point.

Johnny pulled away – for a split second only, because pulling away when his dick was pinned was both futile and uncomfortable. He made himself stop and just grit his teeth as the point started to dig in.

“But I don’t think that’s going to help this time.” He leaned forward to look more closely. “Anyway, it looks like it already hurts in a couple of places, hm?” He brushed over a raw spot. “Here?”

Johnny shivered. “Yes, Sensei. _Fuck!_ ” He yelled when the point jabbed him hard.

“Language, Mr. Lawrence.” The reminder was mild. So were the half-dozen or so taps Sensei laid on, but having his dick _hit_ with something, however lightly, was so terrifying it robbed him of breath.

Then the pencil trailed over him and made its way to another red mark. “Here too, I bet.” Harder this time, and held for a good deal longer.

“ _Mmn_! Yes, Sensei!” He didn’t swear or pull away.

“Good, good. Much better.” Sensei released him entirely and stepped around the desk to his drawers. “Tell you what. I believe you that you’ve been doing the best you can,” he said generously, “And that you’ve actually been doing, on the whole, a pretty good job. Good on you.”

“Thank you, Sensei.” He didn’t breathe. He just stood there with his dick out, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“But.”

Here it came.

“It seems like you let yourself down yesterday. Didn’t you. So we’re going to have to do something about that.”

Johnny didn’t immediately recognize the bottle he took out of his desk. He squinted at it. The label had a woman and a couple of X’s. 

It was lubricant. For sex.

“I- um, I don’t-…” He was going to refuse. He was going to _refuse_. He was.

“Go over to the glass there, Mr. Lawrence.” He nodded to the window that looked out onto the mats. “Brace your hands about shoulder width apart, and spread your legs.”

 _No. No, no, no, no, no._ He went over to the window. He positioned himself as requested. _No,_ he wanted to say, _Not this. Something else. Anything. Let’s do punishment, I’m good at punishment, remember_?

“Good.” Sensei’s voice was right in his ear. He held his breath and tried to stop his teeth from chattering. It was a good thing his hands were braced securely on the window in front of him because his legs had locked up and he was in danger of falling.

 _No no no no no no no._ But even though he was sick with horror, sick to his stomach, he was just standing there silent.

Then he yelped as a _freezing_ , sopping wet hand closed on his dick and started stroking. “Let’s see if we can manage a tug job for you,” Sensei said, “Now that your body’s finally decided to get with the program.”

His head spun. He couldn’t process. Was _that_ all that was going to happen to him? Seriously? (And: _tug job_?)

He choked out a sound that meant to be a laugh, but wasn’t.

“Are you all right?” The stroking didn’t stop. “I know you’re a little raw down there, Johnny – does it hurt?”

“No, Sensei.” _Nothing_ hurt at the moment; he was in danger of dying of euphoria actually. “I mean it does, but not too much. I’m okay.” It was true. Yesterday had left sore spots and the rubbing over them was painful even with the (godsent) lube, but still, he was much too relieved and grateful to mind a thing.

“Good. Because we want you to be okay. Is this how you like it?”

“Um.” It was true that the slippery was nice. And new – he’d played around with lotion sometimes and with soap (mistake), but nothing that compared to the wet glide of the stuff dripping off him now. So, the lube was nice. 

But this was still not, in any way shape or form, how he liked it. He closed his eyes – it was better not to look out at the dojo. And definitely better not to look at their reflection in the glass. But even so, even if he could forget everything else and just pay attention to the feel of it, it was too far off to get him there. He decided to risk an answer. “It’s a little too hard. Can you ease up?” Then he laughed, airy and kind of wild. Asking _that_ , of _him_?

Sensei laughed too. “I don’t think so. I think you’re going to come for me just like this. Isn’t that right?”

He was nowhere near ready, not yet. But he said _Yes Sensei_ , because that was the only possible answer.

“Good.” And then his free hand came around Johnny’s other side, and reached down and _closed around his balls._

“No-” he squeaked – then shut up. Pleading was not a plan. Gritting his teeth and toughing it out was his best bet and he knew it.

Anyway the hand was massaging gently – for now. He pushed away the very visceral memory of what that hand could do.

And Sensei knew exactly what he was remembering. “Hush. Today isn’t supposed to be about pain,” he purred. Gentleness from him was always fake, and always nervewracking. “We just want you to get your _needs_ taken care of. So. In a minute you’re going to come for me, okay?”

“Okay.” But it was a lie – he knew he wasn’t close enough.

“Good. You’re going to come for me on the count of three. Okay?”

“Okay.” He wasn’t.

“Because…” And the terrifying grip firmed up, just a little… “If you don’t _,_ what I’m going to do instead is give you the crushing of your life. It’ll make last time feel like a sponge bath from an angel. Do you understand?”

He whimpered. Couldn’t manage a word this time.

“Do you hear me, son? You’re going to come for me when I count to three, or I’m going to hurt you so bad you _will_ be crying. So bad I won’t even blame you for it.”

At that he almost started crying already. “No – wait,” he forced out. “I can’t yet. I’m not ready.” By some miracle he hadn’t gone soft; Sensei’s _tug job_ was still getting him there even through his terror. But he wasn’t there yet.

“You can. You can because I say you can. And I know you, Johnny. Have I ever been wrong about what you can do?”

His legs were shaking. His dick _hurt,_ and his stomach. There was no way…

“Here we go,” Sensei said cheerfully, after not long enough. “ _One._ ”

“Please – _please_. Just _wait_. Sensei please. I can’t.” His hands were sliding down the glass; his shoulders were giving out and his palms were sweaty and there was nothing to hold on to. He tried to press back up into position though, because he was mortally certain that if he slipped and slammed his face into the window Sensei would keep right on going. Hell, he probably couldn’t get out of this if he put his face _through_ the window.

“Yes you can. You got this, Johnny, I believe in you. _Two_.”

“Oh god. Oh fuck.” An orgasm was _there inside,_ he could feel it, but it wasn’t close enough to grab hold of and he was running out of time. “Please – please hold on. Just hold on. Gimme a second. I’m trying. But I’m not-…”

“You are. It’s time. You can do it. _Strike hard_. Now. _Three_.”

* * *

He bought his own bottle of lube so that he didn’t miss any more days and the ordeal would never be repeated. (He bought it at a gas station, twenty minutes away, wearing sunglasses and a hood.). When he was having trouble he used it, and then it didn’t take him half an hour – eyes closed and legs spread and free hand pressed against his mirror, he came in seconds. (But it did take him a while to calm down again afterwards.).

Then came the All-Valley, and he and Sensei parted ways, and that was that. He threw the bottle away and stopped masturbating unless he was in the mood. He played a radio by the shower to drown out any commentary. He drank a little more. But that was that. Everything was fine. Seriously – everything was fine.

* * *

**The End.**

***barf emoji***

**Okay, so, that’s it. No big dramatic reckoning, no closure, no real healing or even acknowledgement that any is needed. Sometimes that’s just how it is – squicky and unsatisfying. Sorry! I'm sorry I inflicted this on everybody, but I had to get it out of my head. Thank you for reading & massive thank you to all who commented.**


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